


fabricated

by proto_typ3



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Calus being the motherfucker he is, Canon Compliant, Disordered Eating, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trauma, drifter being sweet, look at this guardian you gave him anxiety, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-08 23:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20985203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proto_typ3/pseuds/proto_typ3
Summary: He hated it. He hated how clearly he could imagine each death, each killing, each sick and twisted request. He hated how, just for a minute, he liked it.





	fabricated

Harker didn’t think that he’d get quite as far as he got. He definitely didn’t think that running through the cabal emperor’s leviathan, playing his little Menagerie, would fuck him up as much as it did. That voice still rung in his head. The files his ghost managed to pull from one of the psion’s network hit even harder. 

The images they conjured up wouldn't leave him. They were all fabrications, he knew that. It said it right there in the text. Just predictions. “Future history.” A cabal emperor’s little fantasy. 

He hated it. He hated how clearly he could imagine each death, each killing, each sick and twisted request. He hated how, just for a minute, he liked it. Harker  _ liked _ thinking about the banquets and the glory. Then it turned into just being  _ used _ to fill Calus’s sick fantasies about being the final being in the face of the darkness. No fighting back. No glory to anyone but the emperor as the universe vanished from under his feet. Only darkness after him.

Some of the stories he could laugh at. Defeating the vex with an irrational number was the only one that stuck out. Sometimes how out of character they got was funny. Most times it was disconcerting. It  _ shook _ him how just a few interactions with the strange cabal had led to the twisted character he created. What his scribes had created, and he directed. The light shouldn’t lead to this. Only a handful of Earth’s people had been given it, yet some  _ cabal _ think that the light should be used to end it all.

Harker didn't eat for days. Where him and Drifter would normally sit and chat over a good meal, Harker couldn't look at him. He tried to apologize, saying he had work or he just wasn't hungry, but Drifter could read people better than that. It was actually Harker’s ghost that first piped up, coming to the always distrustful rogue on his own. 

“This is the  _ only _ time I ever want to talk to you directly.” He said flatly, keeping a distance between them.

“Feeling’s mutual.” He grumbled.

“My guardian, your _ partner _ , saw some shit on the Leviathan. He won't eat. He won't talk to me. You have to do something. Getting brought back from starvation isn't a good feeling.” Drifter sighed heavily, avoiding eye contact with the ghost. 

“I’ll talk to him. Now scram.” The ghost buzzed off, but with confidence. Drifter’s own ghost had been looking between the two talking, red eye darting back and forth. The ghost returned to his work when his lightbearer didn't address him.

The Drifter brought him something small to drink the next morning. Sweet tea, as he liked it. He grumbled lowly as he brought it to his lips, tense like it hurt. The rogue idly picked some leaves out of his hair that he had tracked in from patrol, watching him drink out of the corner of his eye. In the quiet they both heard the hunter’s stomach rumble. 

“Breakfast?” He ventured softly. 

“Not hungry.” 

“Harker-” He groaned.

“What?”

“Don't play dumb with me, something's wrong. You know it is.” He caught his eyes and tried to hold them still.

“Nothing's-” He stuttered, shrugging off his touch.

“Don't lie to me.” He said lowly, resting his shrugged-off hand on his thigh. Harker set down the glass with a shaky hand, avoiding his partners gaze. “I’ll make breakfast. Whatever you like.” He continued softly. Harker still didn't speak for a long while. “What's wrong?” He eased closer, other hand wrapping around his waist. 

“The- you know the- that Calus guy?” He started and stopped several times like the words wouldn't quite come to him.

“Yeah, he's an asshole.” He remembered the time the emperor had called Harker his  _ own _ . Like he belonged to anybody.

“He- yeah. He wrote up all this- all this  _ shit _ . About  _ me.  _ About how everything would end. I-” He tore at the edge of the bedsheet, pulling away threads with worry-bitten nails.

“Wrote shit?” He had heard of the fake histories he had written, but never believed they actually existed.

“He wrote that I  _ killed _ you.” Pain was obvious in his voice. “That- that you ate yourself to death in front of me, at a fucking banquet set by him and it's- it's all  _ fake, _ but-” He shuddered against him. Drifter could just barely feel the edges of his light flaring out in his subtle panic.

“Calus is more screwed up than I thought if he thinks I'd accept an invite to  _ anything _ from him.” He tried to lighten the mood.

“He- he fed you your ghost on a fucking plate.” His voice rose to almost hysterical, trying to laugh at himself as his throat closed up. Drifter steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. “You died.” He choked.

“I'm not gonna die. Not any time soon. Especially not to some cabal emperor.” He rubbed his back, scooting in close, a lump forming in his throat. “Fuck, is this why you won't eat?” 

“I don't- I shouldn't be  _ scared _ of it.” 

“Would it be better to eat alone? So you don't have to see me?”

“No, no, no.” He grasped his hand, pulling it almost flush with his chest. 

“Alright, darlin’.” He pressed a kiss to his temple, pushing the hair out of his face. Tears had stuck some strands to his cheeks. “I'm gonna bring some food back for you. Any preference?”

“Just something small, something normal. Fruit or some shit.” He always had a preference for earth food.

“Alright.” He rose, placing another kiss to his forehead. For the first time in a while, there was a flicker of peace across his features.

Drifter got a pinged while he was in the kitchen looking for a tray. His ghost quietly brought up the file.

_ fucked-up-shit.pdf _ from Harker Possum, sent by Ghost. 

He chuckled, saving the attached files to be gone through later. Pages and pages of text with the title “_Chronicon_” at the head of each. Short stories, and a lot of them. Setting the last plate on the tray, he walked back to their room without even attempting to read any of them. Honestly, he didn't want to read himself get killed. It was too early in the morning.

Harker held his hand as they picked at the food together, Drifter making sure to take his time. It felt a lot like trying not to startle a cat. He didn't dare shift his hand unless he did first. Really, what Harker was doing was grounding himself. Making sure he was still alive and warm, that his pulse still going. He was making sure Drifter was still  _ real _ , he realized with a squeeze of his hand. From the first bite, Harker felt his body rejoice, though at the same time he felt sick to his stomach. An odd sensation. He took another bite. 

“Everything okay?” He asked after a while. 

“Yeah.”

“You know I love you.” Drifter didn’t make eye contact when he said it, quietly, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. 

“I-” He choked, like he was close to tears again, nodding his head. “Yeah.” He breathed. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos always appreciated  
(｀w´)


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